


Terrible Things

by toyhto



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season 3 or season 4 I guess, Tumblr Prompt, also smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28342575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: “Do you want me to fuck you? Or hold your hand?”
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 14
Kudos: 151





	Terrible Things

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing the Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up on [Tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com) and I got a lovely prompt from anon: Green-Eyed Epiphany and Innocent Physical Contact. I feel like there's 2000 words of me trying to fill the prompt and then 3000 words of sex. But well what can you do. I had fun.

Ah. Yes. Tommy Shelby. A tiny man in a pretty suit. Not stupid, though. Not exactly. An idiot, of course, but clever, too. Possibly lethal. And what does all that point to? What, indeed?  
  
Tommy’s got a plan.  
  
That’s how it is. That’s what’s going on here. There’s no other explanation. There’s got to be a plan, because otherwise Tommy Shelby wouldn’t invite Alfie to his house. For a party, to be precise. Tommy invited him for a party. It’s not as if Alfie’s here for the first time, no, not at all. He’s been here before. He’s come to meet Tommy to talk business once or twice. But Tommy’s never invited him over for a _party._  
  
The thing is, he doesn’t like parties. Too many idiots in one room, and too much booze, which only makes idiots stupider. He’s not a party person, no, he’s the kind of a person who comes to your house at inappropriate times, walks to your drawing room and intimidates the shit out of you. That’s what’s he’s good at. He’s _perfect_ at that, truly gifted, and also he’s practiced _a lot_ over the years. But _this_ , people he doesn’t give a fuck about talking polite nonsense to other people he doesn’t give a fuck about, all in their fancy clothes and nice dresses and holding wine glasses, the music and the dancing and the food that’s not even _good_ , no, not his thing at all. So, why did he come?  
  
Well, that one is easy. He came because Tommy called Ollie and said that there was a fucking party in Tommy’s fancy house and Tommy wanted Alfie to come there for some fucking reason. Not with those words exactly. But Alfie got the message, alright, and laughed and told Ollie he wasn’t going to go to Tommy Shelby’s damn party, and then he made sure his best suit was cleaned and went to Tommy Shelby’s damn party.  
  
He follows one of the waitresses and then clears her tray of those tiny sandwich-like things that tasted very odd in the beginning but began to make sense after five tries or so. He’s done a lot of stupid things for Tommy Shelby lately. For example, he hasn’t killed Tommy yet. He hasn’t asked anybody else to kill Tommy, either. Once or twice it may or may not have happened that someone’s asked him about Tommy and he’s given a vague impression that if anyone else laid a hand on Tommy, he’d kill the bastard, their two favourite aunts and their cat. And a few months ago, he gave Tommy a tip about a perfectly business-related thing that turned out quite successful for Tommy and didn’t cost him a thing, did it, no, just cost him the time it took to tell Ollie to call Tommy. But still he’s been wondering why he did it. They have a nice balance now, Tommy and him. Tommy seems to have forgiven him about the times he’s crossed Tommy in the past, or at least Tommy doesn’t seem to be currently planning a revenge, which is pretty much the same thing. They are _fine._ They aren’t friends or anything, which is also more than fine. Everything’s great, only he’s in Tommy’s party, following another waitress to get his hands on more of those sandwich-like things, and from across the room he can see Tommy talking to a woman.  
  
Well, _this_ is bollocks. He’s _not_ going to stare at Tommy while Tommy smiles at the woman, who’s admittedly pretty if you like that kind of a thing, well, women. Alfie should have a talk with the woman, just to warn her off from Tommy. Tommy’s no good. But first he should have a talk with himself about why the fuck he’s staring at Tommy.  
  
Alright, yeah, alright, Tommy’s pretty. That’s not news. Alfie’s got eyes, right? He can fucking _see_ that Tommy is pretty. That’s not why he’s here. That’s not why he drove from London just because Tommy asked him to. That’s not why.  
  
Well what the fuck, that’s exactly why.  
  
He narrows his eyes. The woman leaves Tommy in peace, but there comes another, holding a wine glass. This one might be even prettier, but who can tell, not Alfie apparently, because he’s fixed on Tommy. He stares as Tommy places a hand on the woman’s back. A casual gesture, surely. There’s no reason to think that Tommy might’ve fucked this woman, or might be planning to, maybe even tonight. Maybe when Alfie’s still here, stuck in this stupid room with stupid people, and Tommy has the nerve just to take off and fuck the woman somewhere else in the house, because this house certainly has a lot of rooms, Alfie can tell, this is exactly the kind of a house that has a lot of rooms for Tommy to fuck women in them. Terrible. Just terrible. Not that Alfie cares, because he doesn’t, and it’d be much more terrible if Tommy was fucking another man, and even that wouldn’t be terrible at all, because that’s not why Alfie’s here, no, not -  
  
Bloody fucking shit. The woman walks away from Tommy and Alfie has barely time to breathe in when a _man_ walks to Tommy, stops at Tommy’s face and then puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.  
  
This is fucking outrageous.  
  
Alfie walks to Tommy, makes sure he’s standing an inch closer to the idiot than the other man, and puts his hand on Tommy’s other shoulder. “Hello, mate.”  
  
“Alfie,” Tommy says, turning to him. The other man withdraws his hand, which is just great, because otherwise he might have misplaced it within a few seconds. “Have you met Mr. –“  
  
“No,” Alfie says, grabs the other man’s hand and squeezes it. He doesn’t break any bones. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
The man looks a little frightened, so maybe he has some sense in his head. Alfie very clearly doesn’t. He tries to concentrate on that, on his obvious lack of common sense, but he can’t. He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder and then pulls his hand away before it becomes even weirder.  
  
“I was going to come over to talk to you,” Tommy says, his stupid hoarse voice light and polite. Alfie wants to shake him. He has no right to look so _pretty._ “I hope you’re having fun.”  
  
“Fun?”  
  
Tommy nods. “It’s the general idea of parties.”  
  
“Listen, mate,” he says and pats Tommy on the arm. For such a tiny man Tommy’s arm feels surprisingly as if he might’ve lifted something in his life. Not anything heavy, of course not, the idiot probably has someone to do the heavy lifting for him.  
  
Oh, right. Alfie was supposed to be saying something.  
  
“You have your fun,” he tells Tommy and then immediately regrets it. He has a feeling that Tommy’s idea of fun involves fucking and he doesn’t want Tommy doing that right now. Unless it’s with him. But he’s definitely not thinking about that. “I’ll just go over there,” he says and points at the randomly chosen spot in the room. “And eat sandwiches. They’re good, by the way. Lovely.”  
  
“What?” Tommy asks.  
  
“Goodbye,” Alfie says and walks away. Well, that went well.  
  
But he can’t make himself stay away for long. He’s eaten too many sandwiches and is feeling a bit sick, and Tommy’s _smiling_ at people _right there_ where Alfie can see him, and the evening is dragging on impossibly slowly but still too quickly, and isn’t that a mystery? Yes, it is. Alfie sits in the corner, sips his fucking tea and watches Tommy. It seems possible that Tommy invited him here so that he could meet people, make connections, possibly something that’d be useful for his business, but he just can’t think about that now, no, he’s going to sit quietly in his corner and stare at Tommy and soon enough, he’s going to drive back to London and forget that this night ever happened.  
  
But then another pretty man in a pretty suit touches Tommy’s arm.  
  
“Ah, hello,” Alfie says once he’s walked over the room to Tommy again. He doesn’t have a fucking clue why he did it, alright? Or he does but that’s just stupid, so he’s going to pretend he doesn’t. “This is a nice coat,” he says to Tommy and tugs at the hem of the thing. “Is it new?”  
  
“Alfie,” Tommy says slowly, “have you met –“  
  
“No, no, I haven’t,” Alfie says and pats Tommy on the back. “Terribly sorry to say that I haven’t. Listen, mate, what is this music? Because it’s kind of not very unpleasant.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Tommy says, looking at him with narrowed eyes. Tommy smells of cologne and booze and it shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “Alfie, what’re you doing? Is everything alright?”  
  
“What?” Alfie says. Oh, alright, it seems that he’s placed his hand on the small of Tommy’s back and left it there. “No, yeah, everything’s alright. A lovely party.”  
  
“Thank you,” Tommy says and nods to the man who’s still standing next to them like an idiot. “So, I should introduce –“  
  
“No need,” Alfie says and takes the glass of wine from Tommy’s hand. “Listen, mate, I’m terribly sorry to distract you like this, in the middle of your party, yeah, this is very rude of me, my apologies, but I need to talk to you.”  
  
Tommy blinks at him. Oh, good lord, he can still remember the first time he saw Tommy. The idiot was sitting in his office with a bleeding nose and an absurd plan that actually worked out. “You need to talk to me?”  
  
“Yes.” He takes a good grip of Tommy’s arm and pulls Tommy away from the other man. “In your office. It’s about business.”  
  
“Business,” Tommy says slowly, glancing between him and the other man, and alright, the other man might be younger and prettier than Alfie, but also the other man is very clearly an idiot. It’s obvious from… something. And Alfie’s got his own charm. Certainly. And he knows some tricks, and he’s definitely not thinking about them now.   
  
“Alright,” Tommy says finally. “Excuse me.” He starts walking, and it takes Alfie a second to realise he’s supposed to follow Tommy now. Oh, great. He’s losing his mind. He glares at the other man, walks after Tommy to the door, and then to another room, and thank lord there’s no music in here, just Tommy’s footsteps, sharp and steady even on the carpet, and his own, with the rhythm of the cane. Tommy takes him through the room that looks exactly like an office, and then through the room that looks fancy and useless, and then to another room that has a bookshelf and a window over the yard. It’s getting dark. Tommy walks to the window, turns to Alfie and crosses his arms over his chest. “So?”  
  
“So,” Alfie says. Well, this reminds him of that one time in France when his battlegroup had been supposed to quietly cross the distance between two villages, and sadly, they didn’t manage it. There had been quite a fuss. But maybe he can still avoid that, this time. He looks around, spots an armchair and sits down. His knee cracks.  
  
“Business, you said,” Tommy says. “What about business?”  
  
“Ah, nothing,” Alfie says, which is obviously a mistake, but also he has a feeling that Tommy might’ve figured out that already. The bastard doesn’t seem surprised. “I don’t like parties,” Alfie tells him.  
  
“Really,” Tommy says.  
  
“Yeah, no,” Alfie says, tapping his cane against the carpet. It’s really soft. Must have been expensive, too. “Too many people, most of them idiots. Can’t bother to talk to so many idiots at once. I prefer picking one.”  
  
“Is that what this is,” Tommy says, “you picking one?” Tommy’s arms are still crossed, his face giving away nothing about what he thinks, but he _must_ realise what Alfie’s doing here. Not that Alfie wants him to realise. But he’s driven for Tommy Shelby from London, he’s eaten sandwiches in Tommy’s stupid party, and for a long time now he’s been trying not to get Tommy killed, which he thinks is very sweet of him, and now he’s _tired._ So, yeah. Maybe he fucking wants Tommy to realise, after all.  
  
“I don’t really give a shit about anyone else in here,” Alfie tells Tommy, because why the hell not, at this point. He stretches his leg and his knee cracks again.  
  
“Really,” Tommy says. He’s possibly trying to smile but his tiny little face doesn’t remember how to. He’s been so busy trying to get rich in his fancy house that he doesn’t know how to smile anymore.  
  
“Tommy, mate,” Alfie says, “you’d be prettier if you smiled.”  
  
Tommy looks like he wants to stab Alfie. Good.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Alfie says and stands up, now that he’s got Tommy angry at him. “I think I should get back to the party. You don’t want to waste your evening talking to me.”  
  
“Where the fuck you think you’re going?” Tommy asks. He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds confused, which isn’t ideal.  
  
Alfie stops. “You want me to stay here?”  
  
“No,” Tommy says, “yes, I mean… for fuck’s sake, Alfie, do you have to be so…”  
  
“What? Tell me. I’m interested.”  
  
Tommy glares at him.  
  
“I’m very interested,” he says, raising his cane and pointing it at Tommy. He can’t reach to tap Tommy on the nose with it but it’s close. “That’s why I came today.”  
  
He can see Tommy swallowing. “That’s why you’ve been touching me.”  
  
“What? Touching? What do you mean, touching?”  
  
“Alfie,” Tommy says, “you aren’t smooth.”  
  
“I’m the smoothest man in England,” Alfie says and frowns. “Well, maybe in London. At least in Camden. Or at least –“  
  
“And this isn’t even the first time,” Tommy cuts in. “Last time when I came to see you in London, you _held me hand._ ”  
  
Alfie blinks. “No, I didn’t.”  
  
“You fucking did.”  
  
“I definitely fucking didn’t.” He clears his throat. “When?”  
  
“You gave me a glass. And then you just didn’t let go.”  
  
 _Ah._ “But it doesn’t count if you had a glass in your hand.”  
  
“Of course it does.”  
  
“No, it doesn’t. It only counts as holding hands if you don’t have anything in your hand, except my hand, of course.”  
  
“I didn’t say we were _holding hands_ ,” Tommy says, “I said _you_ held _my_ hand. And Ollie was _right there._ ”  
  
Alfie shrugs. Oh, shit, his neck aches. Must be from the long drive. “Ollie’s seen worse.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“What do you mean, like what?”  
  
“What kind of worse things does Ollie see?” Tommy asks in a sharp voice. He sounds like he’s getting ready to fight, which would be very nice indeed, except that Alfie’s knee has been bad lately.  
  
“Well,” Alfie says slowly, goes back to the armchair and sits down. “I try to keep the poor boy somewhat decent, so actually, he doesn’t see much. I was just trying to point out that he’s not traumatised for seeing me holding your hand, because I wasn’t holding your hand. That didn’t count.”  
  
There’s a distant sound of laughter coming through the walls. From the party, probably. It’s still going on for some reason. As if everything doesn’t stop the second Tommy Shelby steps out of the room.  
  
“I could hold your hand, though,” Alfie says, glancing at the window. A beautiful night, isn’t it. But he can’t fucking believe he’s going to have to drive back to London.  
  
When he looks back at Tommy, the idiot’s still staring at him. Well, Tommy’s braver than he thought, then. “You could?” Tommy says.  
  
“I’ve held hands with people before,” Alfie says and then sighs. “Men. I’ve held hands with men. Don’t so much care about women.”  
  
“I thought so,” Tommy says.  
  
“You, on the other hand, could get half of the people in that room to fuck you,” Alfie says and points his cane at the vague direction of where they came from. The cane hits the wall. Oh, well. He does it again, just because Tommy startles a little.  
  
“I thought we were talking about holding hands,” Tommy sounds, doesn’t sound so eager to fight anymore, just a little breathless. Oh, lord, he’s pretty, and Alfie’s in trouble. Maybe he won’t have to drive back to London, because Tommy’s going to murder him on this nice carpet.  
  
“We were,” he tells Tommy. “But I supposed you’re greedy.”  
  
Tommy stares at him.  
  
“You wouldn’t be happy holding hands,” he explains. “You’d like to fuck, too.”  
  
“Yeah, I…” Tommy blinks. “I got that.”  
  
“Did you, now?”  
  
Tommy looks at the door and then at him again. Maybe the bastard is trying to decide the murder weapon. The gun would be nice. Quick enough, and easy, and from this distance, Tommy could probably do a good job at the first try. Alfie doesn’t exactly fancy getting stabbed, or what else is there anyway, strangling? No, Tommy wouldn’t be able to do that. Alfie would throw them over and press Tommy against the floor, and then he’d hold Tommy there for as long as would be necessary.  
  
“Are you mad?” Tommy asks.  
  
“Yes,” Alfie says and lifts his chin. “Are you?”  
  
Tommy keeps quiet for a second, walks to the door and only then opens his mouth. “Wait here.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Wait,” Tommy says, “here.”  
  
“Why?” Alfie asks, sitting up straight. “For how long?”  
  
Tommy glances at him and then leaves the room.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Well, Alfie Solomons is an idiot. A huge fucking idiot. That’s been kind of clear since the first time Tommy walked into his bakery, and it’s kind of sad that he’s still a little bit surprised. Here he is, sitting in the armchair somewhere in Tommy’s ridiculously big house, waiting for Tommy to come back to him, and he doesn’t even know how long it’s been, because he doesn’t want to know, because then he’s only going to know how much of an idiot he exactly is, and a man’s got to keep some of his pride, right? Right. Only he feels that he might’ve already lost it all. He wants to fuck Tommy Shelby, and he knows that, and Tommy clearly knows that now and maybe did before, and now he’s going to sit here, nice and quiet, until Tommy comes back and does whatever fuck it is that Tommy’s planning to do to him. Maybe Tommy’s back to murdering him. Maybe Tommy just wants the other guests to get out of the house first. To have some privacy, yeah, and isn’t that a nice thought? Yes, it is. Almost moving. Alfie’s a little bit moved, alright, and then he hears footsteps.  
  
He stands up. Tommy walks through the door, stops, closes the door, and looks at Alfie.  
  
“Are you staying for the night?” Tommy asks.  
  
“Sure,” Alfie says. Dead or alive, he supposes.  
  
“I have a guest room,” Tommy says and opens another door.  
  
But he doesn’t take Alfie to the guest room. It’s so obvious that Alfie would laugh if he wasn’t kind of… not scared, he’s not been scared since France and isn’t going to start now. And he’s pretty sure that if Tommy was thinking about murder, he wouldn’t have brought Alfie to his bedroom, because certainly this is where Alfie is now. There’s a picture of Tommy’s wife here, a sharp woman, dead for some time now. There’re a few pictures of Tommy’s son, too. Alfie inspects one. What a burden, to be Tommy Shelby’s kid. He just hopes the kids like horses. And rooms. Because Tommy’s got horses and rooms but not much sense in his head, apparently, since he takes off his coat now, and puts his gun on the table, and then takes off his holster, too. It’s almost as if he’s undressing.  
  
“This is a nice guestroom,” Alfie says.  
  
“Fuck off,” Tommy says and starts unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
Alfie doesn’t. He leaves his cane resting against the wall, leans his shoulder against the said wall for balance and starts taking off his clothes as well, because it seems that’s what they’re doing here. Tommy doesn’t protest, but sadly, Tommy’s far ahead of him in the process and he gets a little distracted when Tommy pulls off his trousers and just stands there in his pants. He’s not hard yet, so maybe this is about murder after all, only Alfie has a feeling that Tommy would get hard for a murder, too, the mad bastard. He really should start seeing nicer men.  
  
“What’re you waiting for?” Tommy asks.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Take off your clothes.”  
  
“Really?” Alfie asks. “My clothes?”  
  
Tommy glares at him.  
  
“You want me to take off my clothes.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“It’s a bit chilly in here, isn’t it?”  
  
“ _Alfie_ ,” Tommy says. He doesn’t sound like he has much patience. Alfie tries not to smile, and who can blame him if he doesn’t exactly make it? No one. No one could blame him for this. He looks up and down Tommy’s body, and then he gets back to taking off his clothes. Slowly, of course. There’s no rush. Maybe Tommy changes his mind and decides to murder him after all, but that’s the worst that could happen, isn’t it? So, no rush. He takes off his vest and unbuttons his shirt and tugs it off from his trousers, and then starts with the trousers. Tommy lights a cigarette. Tommy’s not exactly watching him, no, but Tommy’s not _not_ watching him either. Good enough. He can live with that.  
  
“Tommy, darling,” he says eventually. He’s half-way taking off his trousers now, and Tommy’s still smoking the cigarette, shivering a little. It _is_ chilly. They should get to bed soon, if Tommy can get over himself and stop glaring at him. “Dearest,” Alfie says, “don’t look at me like that. We need to talk a little at first.”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
“You haven’t told me what you want of me, love. You could be excepting that I’ll wrestle with you.”  
  
“Wrestle.”  
  
“Yeah. A perfectly fine sport.”  
  
Tommy takes a deep breath. “Alfie –“  
  
“Tommy.”  
  
“ _Alfie._ ”  
  
“Listen,” Alfie says and puts his trousers on the back of the chair. Well, this is a little awkward. He’s standing in his pants in front of Tommy Shelby, quite possibly the prettiest man who’s ever watched Alfie in this kind of a situation. “I’m just going to ask you, then.”  
  
Tommy stares at him.  
  
“Do you want me to fuck you? Or hold your hand?”  
  
Tommy puts the cigarette away. “Fucking hell, Alfie, that’s not –“  
  
“Because I can do either one,” Alfie says, “or both, in any order. I just need to know what you’re after.”  
  
“I thought you were cold,” Tommy says, sounding tired now. Also nervous. But just a little. And it’s understandable. Alfie’s a bit nervous too. In a good way.  
  
Oh, lord, he’s become an idiot for Tommy Shelby.  
  
“Get to bed, Alfie,” Tommy says.  
  
Alfie nods and tugs his pants down. Doesn’t seem to matter either way. “To bed? And what do you expect me to do in bed?”  
  
“I’ll strangle you if you don’t stop talking.”  
  
“So, you’re into strangling.”  
  
“I’m not _into_ …” Tommy takes a deep breath, walks to the bed and sits down. “I’m a little bit into strangling.”  
  
Bloody fucking hell. “You are?”  
  
“Don’t look like that.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like you want to strangle me,” Tommy says.  
  
“Well, it’s not exactly my thing,” Alfie says, “but I’m a gentleman, right? I can try it if you want me to.”  
  
“Just,” Tommy says, pushes his fingers under the waistband of his pants and pulls them down. “Stop. _Talking.”  
  
_ It turns out there _are_ a few things in this grim world that make a man lose his way with words, and one of those is the sight of Tommy Shelby taking his dick in his fist and starting to tug. It takes Alfie a moment to realise he’s staring. Then he stares a while longer, because Tommy doesn’t seem to care, only looks slightly annoyed but that’s alright, that he can handle. What he can’t handle is the way Tommy settles on his back on the mattress as Alfie climbs there with him, and the look in Tommy’s eyes, and the way Tommy’s mouth opens when Alfie bats his hand away and replaces it with his own. Tommy’s dick is… just a dick, really, hard and silky and damp at the head, but it’s attached to Tommy, and that’s… that’s going to take some time to think about. Later, preferably, because now he’s kind of busy.  
  
He thinks about pressing Tommy against the mattress and pushing his dick inside. He thinks about trying with his fingers first. And then he thinks about kissing Tommy.  
  
“Hey,” he says. “Hey, mate.”  
  
Tommy blinks at him. “I thought you finally stopped talking.”  
  
He keeps Tommy’s dick in his hand and leans down closer to Tommy’s face. Tommy looks like he’s wondering if he ought to knee Alfie in the stomach or just shoot him. “Sorry. I just have to ask you something.”  
  
“Please, don’t,” Tommy says. “Just fucking fuck me already, Alfie. You’ve been thinking about it for _months._ Just do it.”  
  
“Yeah, alright.” Alfie shifts closer to Tommy. Fingers first. He’s going to make Tommy take his fingers first. That’s how it’s going to happen. Nicely and gently, and then maybe a little bit of strangling, if Tommy still wants that. But first… “I’m going to try something.”  
  
Tommy glares at him. He really shouldn’t sleep with anyone so pretty, it’s seriously messing with his head.  
  
“Just tell me if you don’t like it,” he says. “If you can’t speak, give me a sign. Punch me in the throat or something.”  
  
“Alfie,” Tommy says, looking like he’s going to argue again, the bastard, but he doesn’t have time to. Alfie grabs his chin with the hand that’s not occupied with his dick, and then kisses him on the mouth.  
  
  
**  
  
  
So, it turns out Tommy Shelby bites. Not surprising, that. Not bad, either. Just a little inconvenient. But to be honest, Alfie _did_ ask Tommy to give him a sign if the kissing was too much. The sign was pretty clear. But he’s barely managed to lick the blood from his lower lip when Tommy grabs his neck and pulls him back in, and kisses him, and he kisses back, and Tommy bites him again but this time more gently, so he doesn’t really know anymore what Tommy is trying to say. The way Tommy’s cock is leaking against Alfie’s thigh is a nice hint, though.  
  
“Have you done this?” Alfie asks, one finger pressing against the tight muscle in Tommy’s arse. “Before?”  
  
“Yes,” Tommy says, too coherent for what they’re doing now, so Alfie pushes his finger in. At least Tommy takes a sharp breath at that. “Ten years ago.”  
  
“Ten years?”  
  
“Or something.”  
  
Alfie pushes his finger deeper. This isn’t usually his favourite part, but there’s truly something about having your finger in Tommy Shelby’s arse. He crooks his finger and Tommy hisses at him. “So, it’s practically your first time then.”  
  
“No,” Tommy says, but he’s panting now.  
  
“Sure it is,” Alfie says. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t remember. And I bet the last time wasn’t in your own house, in your own bed, where no one’s going to stumble in and stop you.”  
  
Tommy breathes slowly in and out. “Why do you keep _talking?_ ”  
  
“For fun,” Alfie says. “Take a deep breath.” Then he pushes another finger in, before Tommy can do anything about it. Tommy gives out a sound that might be a groan. Probably from pain. Or surprise. But it’s nice anyway. Alfie moves his fingers and Tommy’s arse squeezes around them. “It’s going to be my cock in a minute.”  
  
Tommy gives him a look as if that’s not a surprise.  
  
“You’re probably relieved that I’m not terribly big,” Alfie says, crooking his fingers in the way that makes Tommy kick him in the knee. He does it again. “It’s just one of those things, you know, one person can’t have it all, and I have pretty much everything. A big cock would’ve been a bit too much. Must give other people a chance too. Even though it’s not much of a chance.” He leans down to kiss Tommy on the mouth. Tommy kisses him, easily as if it’s a fucking reflex. “You happy down there?”  
  
“I hate you,” Tommy says. His hands are on Alfie’s back, fingers digging into skin.  
  
“Good to know,” Alfie says and then pulls his fingers out. Tommy lets out a sound which is a real blessing, indeed, a real blessing. And Tommy lets Alfie arrange their limbs a little bit, lets him push a pillow under Tommy’s fine little arse, and then another, just to do this right. Ten years is a long time to not get fucked in the arse.  
  
“Alfie.”  
  
He really wants this to be good for Tommy. He _needs_ this to be good for Tommy. It’s unclear why, and he’s definitely not going to start thinking that he _likes_ Tommy. That’d be absurd. That’d be a fucking nightmare and only lead to terrible things, like, love.  
  
“What’re you thinking about?” Tommy asks. His face is red and sweaty and his thighs are spread for Alfie. He probably doesn’t have a fucking clue what he looks like. Or maybe he does, and wouldn’t that be terrifying? Yes, it would. “Your eyes went soft.”  
  
“I’m not _soft_ ,” Alfie says to put some sense into this fucking conversation.  
  
“Show me.”  
  
“Show you what?”  
  
“That you aren’t soft,” Tommy says, smiling, even though he’s in no position to be smiling. The bastard just does what he wants. As always.  
  
“Alright,” Alfie says, “alright,” and then he grabs his dick and takes a good grip of Tommy’s hips and probably pokes at Tommy in the wrong places at first, but then he manages it. He’s got an inch of his dick in Tommy’s arse, and Tommy’s so tight that it’s going to take the whole fucking night to get another inch in, but that’s alright. They have time.  
  
  
**  
  
  
It doesn’t take the whole night. Alfie’s got to take a tiny break a few times, partly because his knee is killing him and partly because his cock is in Tommy’s arse and he’s about to lose it _right now_ , and Tommy swears at him a lot. It’s sweet. And maddening. But mostly sweet. At some point, he wonders if Tommy kind of asked for a little bit of strangling, but he doesn’t think he could manage to strangle and fuck Tommy at the same time, so they’re just going to have to leave it for the next time. Which isn’t going to happen. But if it did, maybe he could strangle Tommy then. Nicely. With feelings. Which is very bad, feelings, yes, very worrying, but apparently there’s some kind of a limit about how worried one can get while fucking Tommy Shelby.  
  
He’s not worried. He fucks Tommy until he comes, and then he realises Tommy’s come already. Tommy’s cum is all over his stomach and there’s some on Alfie, too, which is just fine, because Alfie’s cum is slowly dripping off Tommy’s arse. They’re even. Alfie settles on the mattress next to Tommy and tries to breathe. It’s a nice mattress. He could get used to it. He could get used to Tommy as well.  
  
“Alfie.”  
  
“Just a moment,” he says and pushes his fingers into Tommy’s hair. It yields under his touch. He strokes Tommy’s cheek with his thumb and wonders if Tommy’s going to bite it off, but Tommy doesn’t.  
  
“ _Alfie._ ”  
  
Bloody fucking hell, can’t a man have a moment of peace after hard work? “ _Tommy._ ”  
  
“You’re in my bed.”  
  
Alfie wraps his arm around Tommy’s shoulder and pulls him closer. Tommy comes to him easily as a brick wall. “Am I, now? Really?”  
  
Tommy doesn’t say anything to that, maybe because Alfie gives up on pulling him closer and shifts himself. It’s almost as if they’re hugging. In bed. Naked. After they just fucked.  
  
Alfie takes a deep breath, and then another. Well, what the fuck. “You said you have a guestroom.”  
  
“Yeah,” Tommy says slowly. “I have several guestrooms.”  
  
“Good for you.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Alfie waits. Tommy doesn’t tell him to fuck off, so he doesn’t. He’s going to, though. In a few minutes. And first, he probably should put on some clothes.  
  
“This is a big bed,” Tommy says after a while.  
  
Alfie blinks. “It is, isn’t it?”  
  
Tommy glares at him. He glares back, only he doesn’t do it as well as Tommy.  
  
“You can sleep here,” Tommy says. Somehow he manages to make it sound like a threat. It’s lovely. Also, his voice is surprisingly steady for a man who just had Alfie’s cock in his arse. “If you want to. But we aren’t going to talk about it ever again.”  
  
“Alright,” Alfie says and kisses Tommy’s damp forehead. Tommy hisses at him. The mattress is big and nice, and Tommy is warm despite his character, and it certainly won’t be a problem that Tommy wants him not to mention this ever again. Why would he want to mention it, anyway? It’s not like he’s going to fall in love.


End file.
